The Fleeting Repeating Bubble Divine Poem by Kaleb Falin

Clean crisp and brisk,
The life of a bubble,
Triumph or trouble?
Tragic or magic?
Their testament to the brevity,
A stark comparison to length of longevity,
As our own fragile lives float on,
Regardless of the boat we're on,

Like fireworks,
A single burst,
One shot that's not rehearsed,
Bubbles scream out,
We let our dreams out,
A single pop,
The bubble stops,

Then they make their exit,
Fallen mist perplexed with,
The Forgotten,
The Rotten,
The wool and the cotton,
As the magic wand,
Spins another one,
Then spins the next,
A short life vexed,

I never met a bubble,
Old and grey and course with stubble,
Or with the honor of a name,
Life is almost too short for names,
Let's have a moment of silence,
For all the ones who ended in violence,
For all the John Doe bubbles,
The Fred Flinstones and Barney Rubbles,

In past time and to come,
Until Kingdom come,
All will be united,
That is divided,
Even the trouble of a bubble,

Though,
Quite so,
Always,
They are,
Perfectly existing,
Submitted free from resisting,
With exactness,
Transparent without blackness,
Flawless and energy efficient in shape,
They wiggle and jiggle and shake,
They are subject to wind,
And empty within,

They are not empty within,
They are full,
Of a pool,
Of awe and creation,
Thrilled and revealed,
To all that have eyes,
And to all that can see,
The beauty and balance,
The brilliance and valiance,
Of the perfect pairing,
Of comedy and tragedy,

It is not safe,
When you're chased,
By small protruding digits,
From the hands of God's midgets,
Innocent as the children,
Bubbles are just chillin',
Unaware of the villain,
They go on like there is no ceiling,

Who too often form their lives,
Amongst the needles and the knives,
Such promising translucent orbs of rainbows,
That can even fall victim to the dullness of an elbow,
They decorate and celebrate in revolving twirls,
And bring and sing joy to the worlds of boys and girls,

But tragically they lose their awe,
And then their thin innocence are Hi-Yawed,
As they gather on our dishes,
In the rinsing rivers of our dreams and wishes,
And spin right down the drain,
The empty plates put away without a stain,

Bubbles are good anytime,
Born and dying in their silent chime,
Always at their best seen in eyes of sunshine,
In the eyes of the beholder,
Bubbles bound and sound,
Like the smooth and bright white birthing of a boulder,
Yet will still fit on your shoulder,

Bubbles twinkle on as you go your road,
Life is short and sometimes cold,
In the big bubble like snow globe,
In that which we live,
But do we give?
The globe of Earth,
And for what it is worth,

Yes, bubbles are a friend of mine,
I love them all,
I think thats fine,
And friends this is the end,
Thanks for reading
And not eating,
"The Fleeting Repeating Bubble Divine"